


Or Some Other Kind of Absolute Rock Star

by everyroad



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, and drugs, i forgot to add liam to the story, so dont read it if that offends, the tiniest hint of smut if you squint, theres drinking in this, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyroad/pseuds/everyroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry really likes Louis but Louis is Gemma's best friend. Things get interesting at a Christmas party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or Some Other Kind of Absolute Rock Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/gifts).



> I'm shit at titles and conclusions, don't hate me. 
> 
> Also, I put it in the tags, but fair warning, drug use and alcohol consumption are parts of this story, please do not read if that makes you uncomfortable!

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to go to the party, its quite the opposite actually. It’s a Christmas party and Christmas is Harry’s favorite time of year – “Jingle Bells” stuck in your head for a month straight, snow on the ground that necessitates the layering of multiple clothes, and he loves, loves, loves it when he can see his breath in the crisp air. So, obviously, he’s actually really looking forward to the party and all the eggnog and sugar cookies he’s going to consume, it’s just that Gemma has only JUST informed him that Louis is coming back from Uni on holiday and will surely be at the party. 

Louis, with his perfect smile, and perfect eyes, and perfect body, and perfect e v e r y t h i n g. Louis. Louis. Louis. Harry’s whole young adult life has been about Louis. And Gemma KNOWS this, which is even worse, she knows how badly Harry wants Louis to just love him in every way possible. So, it’s not that Harry doesn’t want to go to the party, it’s just that now he has zero idea what to wear. And the party starts in an hour. Great.

“Niall,” Harry breathes into the phone, “Mate, I need you to come over right now.” He throws the emphasis heavily on ‘right’, because, knowing Niall, he’s probably making about seventeen sandwiches for himself and will spend only two minutes getting ready before he leaves for the party and will still look fabulous. But Harry just can’t do that. Louis is coming.

“Wear your tightest black skinny jeans and that shirt you always leave unbuttoned. Louis will love it.” At least, Harry assumes that’s Niall’s reply because he is actually stuffing his face already and his mouth is full and it sounds more like “Wahsm tinngn acky nnn hirt euutten oooee love it”

“You knew Louis was going to be here?!”

“Harry,” Niall burps twice before the distinct sound of him swallowing down a gulp of what is probably beer is heard through the phone, “it’s Christmas hols. He wasn’t going to be at school. Plus he’s your sister’s like, best friend or summat, of course he’s going to be there.” 

Admittedly, Harry should have thought of this, yes. But there wasn’t room for practical thoughts among the many, many, naked Louis thoughts and all of the ‘delighted about snow and cold and layers and everyone finally being as pale as he is year-round’ thoughts. Not to mention all of the Christmas shopping he’d been up to. Gift-giving is Harry’s favorite.

“Right. Of course. Red shirt or brown shirt?” Harry lamented, already seeing thoughts of black skinny jeans and his beautiful new brown boots – is it acceptable to wear shoes at a party that’s happening at your own house? Of course it is, shoes are the most necessary of outfit-building clothing items. 

“I’m coming over, hold your horses. My cousin just got me this awful see- through shirt that I’ll never wear. S’right up your alley.” _Sheer_ , Harry thinks, but keeps his mouth shut because Niall only ever means well, and he IS trying to help, after all. 

They hang up the phone and Harry goes back to freaking out over his wardrobe options, only mildly contented by the fact that Niall is bringing over a sheer and possibly perfect shirt for the occasion. There’s now only 42 minutes until people are set to arrive. And he hasn’t even started on his hair.

\--

Louis puffed on the joint between his lips with a thoughtful expression before passing the smoking paper to Zayn and breathing out a stream of smoke. 

“So you and Gemma really never did anything?” Zayn asked, between puffs of his own on the joint. He had a look in his eye that Louis knew meant he wasn’t actually asking that question, that he knew the answer was a definite no, but was asking anyway. Zayn had seen pictures of Gemma and Louis really didn’t have to ask why he wanted to know about their history.

“Never, mate. And before you ask, never means never. As in, no, not even before I knew I was totally gay, never.” He grabbed what was left of the joint from between Zayn’s fingers and dragged until it was nothing but paper before looking back at his roommate and smiling, “if you’re interested, go for it.”

Zayn snorted and clapped Louis on the back as he stood up and went back into the living room of their 4th floor walk up, leaving him alone on the balcony. Louis took out a cigarette, an awful habit he only picked up since moving in with Zayn, and something he only did when he was stressed. Or high. Or, in this case, both. 

He dragged on the cigarette in the same manner that he had smoked the joint, inhaling the poison and relishing in the way the nicotine rushed through his body. In a matter of minutes he would be leaving, Zayn in tow, for his hometown and a party at his best friends place. Which, by all accounts, doesn’t sound like something he should be worried about, but, in addition to seeing his best friend for the first time in months, he was also going to see his best friends little brother for the first time in months. A little brother that Louis would quite like to have for himself and has wanted ever since said little brother had turned 15 and sprouted from a child into a man, with these beautiful dimples and this sinfully deep voice. Louis had hoped that the weed would quell his nerves, but it only served to heighten his senses and now here is, focused entirely on Harry. Harry, Gemma’s little brother, Harry. A person he definitely should not be thinking about it. And most definitely not in the way that he was thinking about him. 

When Louis had gone off to university in August he had been determined to get his mind off of the younger boy. He had slept with a fair amount of boys, full-grown men, even, and it had done the trick for a few months. He had thought that moving away would mean he could finally move on, finally abandon this unrequited and forbidden love. Thinking, apparently, just wasn’t something Louis was great at.

“Oi! We’re gonna miss the train!” he yelled as he stood up and shut the door to the balcony. He grabbed his bags from where he had thrown them on the couch and ushered Zayn out the door. Here goes nothing.

 

\--

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” It was the fifth time someone had burst into that song in the last hour but Harry couldn’t bring himself to be mad about it. Gemma had taken all of the eggnog, spiked it with rum, and thrown it into a giant bowl for everyone to scoop cups out of. Harry was on a number that landed somewhere on his second hand when counting, but which finger wasn’t important.

“Niiiiiiiiiaaall!” He sang out, throwing his arms around his best mates shoulders and pulling him into the living room with him, “Niall. Think m’drunk.”

“Right you are Harry! And good thing too, its fucking Christmas innit!?” Niall’s face was redder than Rudolph’s nose and he was slurring his words a bit, but the Irishman was faring far better than his curly-haired, lightweight friend, who, at drink number 7, or was it 8?, was in desperate need of a seat. Niall guided his best mate to the nearest couch and shoved the couple that was making out on it as far into the corner as he could, so as to make room for the drunken one. He reached out and adjusted Harry’s headscarf and straightened his shirt. (In the end, Niall had been right, and the sheer shirt looked fabulous on Harry. It was burgundy in color just long enough to be completely Harry’s style, but not too long so as to cover his bum in the ridiculously tight jeans he had managed to squeeze himself into.) 

“Do you want some water, mate?”  
“He’s not here, Ni,” Harry slurred, lips curling into a frown as he tried to focus his eyes on his friend. “There’s mistletoe. And I made those cookies. Are there still cookies left, Ni? Lou-Louis will want cookies.”

“I’m going to go check, mate, you stay right here.” Niall bounded off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Harry alone on the couch. It had been 2 hours and 37 minutes since the first person had arrived. Harry was very good at math, even when drunk, and that meant that for 2 hours and 37 minutes Harry had earnestly watched the door every time someone arrived, and been thoroughly disappointed when it wasn’t Louis who walked in every single time. From his position on the couch, currently, he couldn’t see the door, but he would hear it if someone came in, and they would have to walk through this room to get to the kitchen, which, of course, is the only way to properly enter a party, to head straight for the kitchen, so Harry figured his seat was a good one.

He waited for 5 minutes before realizing that Niall was definitely not coming back with news of the cookies, either having ate the last one himself, or finally dragged the bird he had been chatting up all night underneath the mistletoe. He had no time to be angry about it though, as he heard the door open, and his heart jumped into his chest again. Louis. He sat up straighter, made sure his sheer shirt was hanging off of him in all the right places, and turned his head towards the entrance, willing the older boy to come gliding through it like the angel he was. Well, the angel he often was in Harry’s imagination. Instead, however, he was greeted by the sight of one of the most perfect boys he had ever seen in his life. Dark haired and slightly bearded, the boy was very skinny but had a whole arm sheathed in tattoos and was almost as tall as Harry himself. He was in the middle of wondering how in the world he had never taken notice of the boy before when he saw a hand curl around the boy’s shoulder and the face he had been longing to see all night appear behind it.

Louis had finally arrived.

And he had brought a boy.

 

\--

He noticed him right away, of course, how could he not? His pale, porcelain-like skin a stark contrast to his dark curls, which had been pulled away from his face by some kind of scarf or something that was wrapped around his head in such a way not unlike Keith Richards or Jimi Hendrix or some other kind of absolute rock star. Louis had taken note of all of this in a matter of seconds, managing to recompose himself enough to introduce Zayn, loudly announcing his status as roommate to the room, before moving on to the kitchen to find and hug Gemma. He needed a drink, immediately, if he was supposed to ignore the fact Harry had grown at least a foot over the past few months and that he had lost all of his baby fat, and was wearing what were possibly the tightest pants Louis had ever seen in his life. If he thought he was nervous before, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. 

“Gems!” He exclaimed, plastering on a smile and gathering her into a tight hug, “How are you?”

“Louis! You’re here! Did you miss your train?” She asked, scolding him in a way that only best friends can get away with, “You were supposed to be here hours ago! You’ve missed all the cookies!”

“Well Zayn, oh, hey, yeah this is Zayn,” Louis grabbed his roommate and thrust him into Gemma’s personal space, noting the way her eyes immediately lit up as she gave him a once over, “He’s my roommate, and, yeah, he took a while getting ready.”

“Excuse you, mate, you were the one sat on the balcony forever before we left. Doing some heavy thinking,” Zayn teased while pulling Gemma into a hug and shooting Louis a ‘shut the fuck up’ look that only roommates can get away with.

Louis laughed and left the two of them alone to get to know one another while he wandered off in search of a drink and someone to keep his mind off the 6 foot tall nearly 18-year-old threatening his sanity in the living room. That plan failed drastically, however, when he ran directly into said almost 18-year-old and spilled his drink all over his shirt. Or, rather, what would have been his shirt had he been wearing it correctly buttoned up all the way, but what was actually just his bare chest, something that Louis had somehow failed to notice before.

“Oh. Hi,” he mumbled, cheeks turning an embarrassing shade of red.

“Oops. Sorry, Louis, should’ve been watching where I was going,” Harry responded, his cheeks equally as red but his voice somehow calm and even. Louis’ brain turned to mush around Harry but the younger boy seemed completely unfazed.

“No. It’s my fault, let me, err, can I get you a flannel, or something?” Louis stuttered, but Harry just shook his head, wiping the liquid away with his hand and then, much to Louis’ horror, proceeded to lick it off.

“S’fine,” Harry grinned, showing off his dimples, a sort of dullness in his eyes that let Louis know just how drunk he was, “You’ve missed my cookies. Niall’s eaten them all up.”

“I heard. So sorry, little one,” the old nickname slipped out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying, “guess you’re not so little anymore, though, are you?” he chuckled, hoping that sounded far less creepy out loud than it did in his head.

“Not little at all. Taller than you, even,” Harry slurred slightly, swaying on his feet towards Louis.

“Don’t remember saying that was okay, Harold,” Louis said, abandoning all hope of not sounding creepy. He took a step closer to Harry and, after glancing around to make sure no one was watching them, ran his finger through a bit of the drink that Harry had missed, “You’ve missed a spot,” he said, holding his finger up for Harry to see. Harry immediately opened his mouth and took Louis’ finger into it, licking obscenely before grabbing his wrist with both hands and pulling the finger out of his mouth again with a pop.

Louis was momentarily stunned into silence. Harry had actually just put his finger in his mouth and sucked, sucked on it. That was far too much for him to handle. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small, very, very small, part of his brain was telling him to back away and go back to the kitchen, but a much larger part had noticed the mistletoe above Harry’s head and so instead he took another step forward and crashed his lips into Harry’s own.

 

\--

Louis was finally kissing him. His hands were in his hair and tugging at his headscarf, probably messing it up entirely, but Harry couldn’t think about that now, he couldn’t think about anything because Louis’ perfect lips were on his own, and his tongue, oh god, his tongue is licking at the back of Harry’s own teeth and he just can’t handle that. It’s a dream come true. It’s a thousand dreams come true. It’s every dream Harry has ever had since he can remember come true.

He pulls back but keeps his hands locked around Louis’ neck, not wanting this to end any time soon or Louis to realize that he’s just drunk or something and that he doesn’t actually want Harry because he’s sure that will happen and he wants this to last just a few moments longer but he feels this incorrigible need to say something. So he pulls back and locks eyes with Louis, licking his lips in preparation of speaking again.

“Louis?” is what he settles on. His name. Christ, Harry.

“Harry,” Louis replies, and, well, Harry doesn’t feel so stupid now. But then Louis backs away, takes his hands from Harry’s hair and mutters something about “mistletoe,” runs his hands through his own hair and walks away before Harry has a chance to say anything more. Now Harry feels nothing but stupid.

 

\--

Louis stays for another half an hour before he decides he absolutely can’t stay any longer and continue to successfully avoid Harry, so he gets up from his seat in the basement in search of Zayn. He somehow manages to make it all the way upstairs and into the kitchen, out onto the back porch, and back inside to the living room without running into the younger boy and finds his roommate seated on the couch with his best friend on his lap and her tongue in his mouth. Jesus. He sighs heavily and makes his way for the door, if Zayn wants to hook up with Gemma that’s all well and good, it will hopefully keep her from finding out that he snogged her little brother, but Louis still needs to escape and clear his head. He has one arm in his jacket when a steady hand on his other arm stops him. He closes his eyes and prays silently that it isn’t Harry, and turns to find Niall, eyes crossed in what Louis thinks is meant to be stern, reproachful look but comes off instead as him looking as drunk as he probably is.

“Louueh. Ya can’t leave,” he manages, confirming Louis’ suspicions of his drunkenness with his very heavy Irish accent and the overwhelming scent of gin flowing from his mouth with every breath, “ ‘Arreh’s –ere. He’s lookin for ya.”

Louis sighs again, heavier this time, as if that were even possible. He’s about to tell Niall that that’s precisely why he has to go in the first place when the blonde continues on.

“He loves ya. Always has done. Ya know?” Niall smiles at him, a drunken, mess of a smile and Louis isn’t sure if he heard him right. Harry loves him? 

“Come again?” he says, having to push the words out of his mouth, his body seemingly in as much disbelief as his brain. There’s no way Harry loves him. Harry’s not even gay, is he? Surely Louis would know if the boy that he’s been pining over for years actually returned his feelings. Surely Gemma would have said something.

“He loves ya. He’s upstairs. Said summat bout mistletoe and you, he made ya cookies.” Niall is no longer making any sense but Louis doesn’t mind because now he’s said it twice. Harry loves him.

 

\--

Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s been 48 minutes since Louis kissed Harry. Or maybe Harry was the one who kissed Louis. No, it was definitely mutual kissing. They were both kissing each other, Harry is sure of it. Except that he’s not, in any way, sure of anything that’s happened since Louis arrived. He remembers the drink being spilled on him, and the licking, oh god, the licking, why did he do that? Did he really suck on Louis’ finger?! No wonder Louis left as soon as he could, who does that?

Harry can’t get his mind to shut off and he really, really wishes that he hadn’t drank so much because his head is so foggy and if there’s one time in his life that he needs his head to be clear it’s this moment. He wants to go find Gemma, to tell her that he loves her best friend and he kissed him and now Louis might never come around again and he’s so sorry for that but he’s also not sorry at all because he kissed Louis. But he can’t bring himself to do anything but sit in his bed and wallow. He finally got what he wanted. Under the mistletoe and everything, it should’ve been perfect. Louis even tasted like eggnog and he hadn’t been inside long enough to lose that scent of coldness. It was everything Harry wanted it to be. Except now here he is, sitting alone in his bedroom trying to figure out how to tell his sister that he chased her best friend away.

He’s about to go downstairs and get another drink, because, well, fuck it, when there’s a knock at his door. He shouts that it’s okay to come in, assuming that it’s Niall looking for a place to crash after the ten thousandth drink he’s consumed finally doing him in, except that it isn’t a head of blonde hair that peeks its way around the door when it opens, but a head of caramel perfection, and stunning blue eyes.

“Louis?” Harry dumbly asks for the second time that night.

“Hey,” is all he gets in return. Louis gingerly steps into the room and shuts the door behind them, cloaking them in darkness broken only by the small desk lamp next to Harry’s bed. He makes his way across the room and sits on the edge of the bed, turning to face Harry where he’s sat with his knees tucked underneath him.

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurts out, hands fumbling in front of him and his eyes looking everywhere but into Louis’.

“For what, love?” Harry’s heart soars at the pet name and he wills his blood to pump just a little bit slower through his veins so he can hear properly again.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, I know you’re Gemma’s friend, and you don’t even like me like that and I just shouldn’t have done it, I’m so drunk, please forgive me,” he rushes out in a single breath. His hands are still fidgeting in his lap but he finds the courage to look Louis in the eye and is surprised to find a shocked look on Louis’ face. 

“I kissed you, Haz. Not the other way around. So don’t go apologizing for anything,” And then Louis’ lips are on Harry’s again. And for the second time that night Harry feels like he’s on top of the world. And, also for the second time that night, he feels a persistent need to say something.

“Wait. Wait, Louis,” he breathes into the older boy’s mouth, not trusting the situation enough to move more than a few centimeters away from his perfect tongue.

“Shh, Haz, it’s okay,” Louis breathes back before capturing Harry’s mouth with his own again, kissing him fervently and with more passion than Harry ever dreamed of. They kiss until Harry is sure his lips are bruised and his lungs are heaving and then they kiss some more. Finally Louis pulls back and wipes Harry’s mouth with his thumb. He tucks Harry’s hair behind his ear and fixed his headscarf as best he can.

“I love you,” Harry says, without thinking. His throat closes instantly and his eyes shoot into his hairline upon the realization of the words that have just left his mouth.

“I love you too, Harry,” Louis says, instantly soothing the younger boy, and chuckling as he adds “Who’s going to tell Gemma?”


End file.
